


Olfaction

by OhMyFreddy



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Dubious Science, Established Relationship, M/M, Minor Violence, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 12:38:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8980057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhMyFreddy/pseuds/OhMyFreddy
Summary: Spock makes a discovery, and he needs an explanation. Immediately.





	

_Something slumbers in the captain’s quarters, and Spock’s shift has ended._

_Jim spent the previous evening with Dr. McCoy, enjoying one of their customary appointments of drinking alcohol, sharing humorous stories, and telling crass jokes, and Spock is content to curl next to him while he rests for a little longer. He is silent as he undresses. Jim breathes deeply, and Spock takes a moment to admire him from above before slipping beneath the bedclothes beside him._

_Jim stirs when Spock unavoidably causes the bed to shift, but he merely turns on his side to face the Vulcan, muttering, ‘_ c’mere’ _, and tucking his face against Spock’s throat. His eyes never open, and Spock closes his as well, holding Jim close._

_His eyes snap open._

_He draws away from Jim’s embrace. Jim shuffles onto a cooler corner of his pillow, and releases a sigh. Spock pulls away the covers to stand. He looks down at Jim, again. Harder, searching._

_Spock slips back into his uniform, and makes his way to Med Bay._

 

 

Doctor McCoy is not having a bad day at all. If a hangover had been looming, the two cups of coffee he’d replicated early this morning were enough to chase it away. He is leaning over the edge of his desk, and he glances at Spock when he enters his office. While docked in Yorktown, only a skeleton crew is aboard, and McCoy has spent most of his shift overseeing inventory maintenance. Last he knew, Spock was running scheduled diagnostics of the port nacelle, under Scotty’s watchful eye.

He looks toward the chronometer above the doorway. Oh, whoops. My, how time flies without a bunch of twitchy ensigns to ride his ass about shift change. He’s gone six minutes over.

It’s really not a problem. Jim had talked big about taking in some theatre this evening while they’re parked in the Space Lightbulb, but if Spock has had something come up, he actually has plenty of time to address it, damn it. But it wouldn’t do to not uphold appearances.

“I’m off duty, same as you,” he says, scrolling determinedly through the PADD he has propped against a beaker. “So whatever it is needs to wrap up quick.”

“I agree,” Spock replies, and McCoy raises his eyebrows befittingly.

Spock continues, “In an effort to resolve this matter concisely, permit me the use of vernacular: during your socialization last night, did you fuck Jim?”

McCoy’s mouth and eyes open wide. The word comes out along with a disbelieving laugh, but he answers, “No.”

“It is my impression that during these times, you and the captain become inebriated.”

“We didn’t get _that_ drunk!”

Spock has him upright and pinned against the door in an instant.

“Jesus! What the goddamn fuck, man?”

“I believe that you are lying. And though it displeases me, Doctor, to resort to force in order to extract information out of a coworker, this matter is entirely personal in nature, and I find its implementation might yield successful results.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” McCoy struggles, but the half-alien doesn’t seem to even register the movement. “Did you even ask Jim if we fucked?”

Spock says nothing for a long moment, pressing close up against McCoy’s back. He can feel the first officer’s breath on the nape of his neck. Then Spock spins him, and resumes his hold face-to-face. Spock is close. Like, kissing-close, and McCoy is not happy with how his shift is concluding. He remembers last week trying desperately to recite the lyrics to _It Is Well With My Soul_ in his head to drown out Jim’s voice while he divulged unsolicited details of his and Spock’s blossoming relationship. But as hard as he tried to the contrary, he still remembers Jim musing excitedly, _You know, it’s a different side of him. Sometimes he gets all…primal._

Oh, McCoy sees what Jim meant. Spock gets a boyfriend, and it turns him into an asshole. Jim could’ve just said so.

Spock’s nostrils flare, and he hauls McCoy to Jim’s quarters.

 

Spock’s fingers fly over the keypad, and he admits the both of them into the captain’s rooms. The door hisses shut behind them.

“Hey, honey,” Jim calls warmly, unseen. He barks a cough. “Can you bring me a glass of water whenever you come back here?”

Spock is dragging McCoy determinedly toward the bedroom, but to McCoy’s incredulous astonishment, he falters in his steps, and glances toward the replicator. _Oh, my god, this irrational, love-sick dickhead_ McCoy thinks, but then Spock meets his eyes as they sweep away from the replicator. He tightens his grip and pulls McCoy deeper into the suite.

“Well, hey, Bones.” Jim’s voice is croaky. He sits up in bed, bare-chested, bleary-eyed, and fluffy-haired. Now, _he_ looks a little hungover. “What’re you two doing?”

“Oh, I can’t wait for you to hear.” McCoy drawls, the smile he gives Jim a bit manic.

Spock’s grip goes even tighter. “Jim, as is my privilege at the commencement of our agreement to engage in a monogamous, romantic association, I insist that you divulge to me the details of your current sexual relationship with Dr. McCoy.”

Jim’s pause would be comically long, except that it’s hard for McCoy to appreciate with Spock’s long fingers bruising his wrist.

“…What?” Jim doesn’t seem awake enough for this. Hell, McCoy’s been awake for ten hours, and _he’s_ not awake enough for this.

“There is evidence upon your person that is in accordance with the effects of a sexual encounter. Specifically, the odor of semen upon your torso.”

Jim stares, nonplussed. He licks at the apparent post-drunk dryness on his teeth, and mouths the word ‘odor’. “That’s gross,” he offers.

Spock waits.

Jim speaks softly, as if he might spare McCoy the information, even as he stands four feet away. “Spock. I get semen on me all the time,” he whispers. “Like, an astonishing, boast-worthy amount. It’s _yours_. Well, and mine.”

Spock doesn’t falter. “Though I detected no odor of ejaculate belonging to you, Jim, on the doctor, the scent of the seminal fluid I distinguished while at close proximity to your skin when I joined you in your bed, eleven minutes ago, carries a particular signature that is undoubtedly Dr. McCoy’s.”

“That is not true!” McCoy says. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Though the odor of human semen is distinctive in and of itself, I will admit that I could not universally pinpoint the source nasally from a random sample. It is only through frequent and close interactions with Dr. McCoy that the source was familiar, and immediately recognizable.”

Now it is Jim’s eyes, trained on McCoy, that hold a measure of accusation.

Spock continues, “The complex structure of scent-“

McCoy interrupts, flabbergasted. “I have _never_ let him smell my come.”

Spock reroutes, “The odor I triangulated was one that is present in many of your secretions, not limited to ejaculate, but also in your saliva and sweat-“

The absurdity of the conversation seems to strike Jim, and he twists to climb out of bed. “Just stop a second. We need to get to the bottom of this. Spock, will ya let him go? Let’s just-“ he tightens the drawstring on his lounge pants and scoops a crumpled t-shirt from his bedside table and arranges it to pull over his head, “Go sit down and start from the beginning.”

Spock releases McCoy. “The beginning is precisely where I-“ He turns his attention back toward the doctor when McCoy makes a sound like he is choking.

McCoy gags, “Oh, my god. Shirt. Christ.”

“What?” Jim asks.

“The shirt! Take it off!” McCoy bellows, then he gasps as Spock reaches forward and twists his arm aggressively.

Spock growls in his face, “You will make no demands of the captain to undress himself-“

“Spock, whoa! Wait! Bones, this’s your shirt!”

“Yes, it fucking _is_. The shirt- It’s the- Jesus, _thejizz’sontheshirt_ ,” he finishes tightly.

The three of them stand frozen. Spock’s not hurting him, exactly, but goddamn, he doesn’t deserve this kind of handling. Jim begins to blink rapidly, then, in a sudden, terrified flurry of motion, peels the shirt over his head.

He passes it firmly to McCoy without meeting his eyes. McCoy snatches it away with his free arm.

The men keep their eyes cast downward, and their cheeks glow pinkly.

Spock’s eyebrows are furrowed together. “Why are you in possession of the doctor’s shirt?” he directs at Jim.

Jim rubs his temples, and takes a deep breath. “I spilled something on myself right before I left? Uh…red?”

“Maraschino,” McCoy mutters.

“I was drunk,” Jim continues, “I just grabbed the first shirt layin’ on Bones’ desk.”

Jim and McCoy both look at Spock. He’s still frowning.

Jim makes a quickly-squashed noise of frustration in the back of his throat.  “And Bones, he had, well-“ Jim’s voice is awfully high, and trailing off.

McCoy finishes for him, his teeth clenched around the words. “Come. In. The. Shirt.”

The ensuing silence is palpable.

“You engaged in sexual intercourse with this garment?”

McCoy venomously snaps the garment in question. “I’m fucking leaving.” He kinda wants to give Spock a broken nose to remember him by, but instead he just gives him a wide berth as he storms towards Jim’s door.

“No, Bones, wait.” Jim’s caught up to him and is curling his fingers around his elbow and pulling him to a stop.

“Look, Spock, the shirt’s just a quick, if not ideal, thing to use to clean up after jerkin’ off, okay? We all do it. Human males,” he clarifies.

Spock appears unimpressed, or appeased. It’s hard to tell, really.

Jim guides McCoy to face Spock. “Apologize,” he entreats of the Vulcan softly.

Spock looks at the shirt crumpled in McCoy’s fist for longer than is strictly polite. “Doctor McCoy, my sincerest apologies for assembling the facts I observed this afternoon in a manner that indicated betrayal upon your part. I also offer apologies to you, Jim, as my conclusion implied your infidelity, as well.” Spock does meet both of their gazes firmly as he speaks. “As a token of good faith, Doctor, I wish to replace the preserved cherries that fell victim to Jim’s maladroitness.”

Jim looks very pleased.

“Fantastic,” McCoy says irritably. “God knows I don’t give a damn if you wanna drag all the cheating cheaters around this ship to meet their justice, but next time, use your words _first._ You have so many.”

The tips of Spock’s ear go quite green, and McCoy is satisfied.

 

Jim escorts McCoy to his door. The hallway is deserted, and as soon as McCoy is over the threshold, Jim leers at him. “So,” he fists the front of McCoy’s uniform and jerks him in close, as close as Spock had him earlier. Jim purrs lustily, “Wanna have a threesome?”

McCoy shoves him forcefully away from himself, and spits, “Fuck you, Kirk!” He storms his way back to Med Bay with his middle finger raised over his shoulder.

Jim stumbles in the doorway, and can barely get out between bouts of laughter, “Yeah, baby, exactly!”


End file.
